


Control

by coatsandjumpers



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Sub!Rhys, long story short i wrote porn again okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coatsandjumpers/pseuds/coatsandjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having any control at all is a freedom that Rhys can’t seem to figure out what to do with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

Rhys exhales shakily. It’s never been like this before. Not submitting to Jack almost feels unnatural; it’s become something akin to habit, and it’s hard for Rhys to snap out of. Really, Jack dominates everything: his job, his life, his thoughts. But now, he’s already shirtless, kneeling on the bed and waiting for Rhys expectantly. Rhys fingers the strip of cloth between his thumb and index finger, the satiny texture slippery against his skin. He can’t tell if the atmosphere feels strained or if he’s just nervous. Either way, he wants the tension to dispel itself. He hates that this feels so foreign -- having any control at all is a freedom that Rhys can’t seem to figure out what to do with.

He circles Jack and clambers onto the bed behind him, grabbing his hands and pulling them behind his back. He’s holding his breath, feeling uncomfortable because Jack hadn’t told him to touch. The tie goes once, twice around Jack’s wrists, but the cloth slides and Rhys’s hands are shaking more than he’d care to admit. Jack must feel the trembling against his wrists, because he turns his head slightly to the left, looking at Rhys over his shoulder. Rhys pulls the ribbon around Jack’s wrists again, conscious of Jack’s eyes on him. He manages to tie the ends this time, his knot uneven but secure. A couple of light tugs on the bonds tells him it should be comfortable, but he asks anyway.

“Too tight?”

Jack shakes his head very slightly, still watching Rhys’s face carefully.

“You seem nervous, Rhysie.” Jack’s tone is just short of condescending, a smirk stretching across his face.

And Rhys is, even though he desperately wishes he weren’t. It’s not like he hasn’t done this with people, but those people have never been Jack. And really, no one compares. It occurs to Rhys to punish Jack for speaking out of turn, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it. It feels like he doesn’t have the right. Rhys can’t shake the feeling that if he tried, Jack would just laugh at him, even though they agreed the reins were in Rhys’s hands tonight.

Rhys suddenly feels intensely grateful for the loops keeping Jack’s wrists tied together, because he may have his hands free but he’s now keenly aware that he’s not the one in control here. Jack’s grin is predatory and he seems amused at Rhys’s hesitation, as if he’s been waiting this whole time for Rhys to realize that it doesn’t matter that Jack is the one kneeling, because every bit of power Rhys has is only his because Jack allows it. And that’s not truly power at all. It suddenly occurs to Rhys that he hadn’t discussed this with Jack so much as asked Jack whether or not he could take control, like some child asking an adult for permission.

Rhys recognizes that Jack knows he could make Rhys stop at any time. He could tell Rhys to untie him and then turn over because he’d changed his mind -- and that would be that. The imbalance abruptly feels glaringly obvious, because when Jack is in control, Rhys is never quite sure if he'll stop on Rhys's terms. That situation has never presented itself, something Rhys thanks God for, but he has a hunch that Jack wouldn't stop even if Rhys wanted him to.

The room is a comfortable temperature, but Rhys feels overheated and he tosses his clothes off to the side knowing that his face is flushed. His heart is beating uncomfortably quickly, and he’s half-convinced that Jack can hear it, because the blood is rushing in his ears and he feels faintly disoriented. His hands haven’t stopped shaking, but he’s hard and Jack is eyeing him, waiting to see what he’ll do.

Rhys moves his hands to Jack’s shoulders, letting his fingers fall lightly on exposed skin. Jack nods slightly, catching on quickly, and opens his mouth. Rhys lets a moan escape him as he feels wet heat envelop him, Jack’s tongue doing sinful things. Jack takes his time, licking lightly before suddenly swallowing around Rhys. Eyes fluttering, Rhys realizes he’s been holding back his moans, feeling guilty about every sound that he doesn’t manage to suppress. He almost expects a slap or two every time he cries out, followed by a reminder: “Good boys stay quiet. I thought you were going to be good tonight, cupcake.”

Instead, Rhys only hears Jack’s wet noises, even as he struggles to remind himself that he’s in control. Jack’s lips are stretched around his cock, slick with saliva, and Rhys is suddenly overwhelmed by an intense sense of wrong. He nearly shoves Jack off, pushing against his shoulder, and he falls back against the bed, the sound of his quickened breathing filling the room. Jack turns his back towards him, angling awkwardly against the bedsheets. For a moment, Rhys is confused by the gesture, until he sees Jack’s outstretched wrists, still bound. Rhys feels shaky, but he unties the bind, and immediately, Jack’s hands are on him, his voice dropping to a comforting low murmur.

The touches are soothing, but Rhys is already beginning to berate himself. He’s not sure what the hell came over him, only that he already feels better with Jack’s arms around him, caging him in his heat. Jack seems to control everything in Rhys’s life. Vaughn had commented that it was weird and even alarming, but Rhys had brushed him off as paranoid. Besides, dating Handsome Jack meant putting up with some idiosyncrasies. But every now and then, Rhys grated against the fact that Jack chose his work hours, his salary, whom he interacted with, what they did at home -- Rhys had asked Jack for tonight as something of a reliever, a reminder that Rhys only submitted to Jack because he chose to.

But now, Rhys is hurtling towards the epiphany that his submission to Jack is no longer a choice; it’s a dependence. Rhys thought that he craved control, but it’s becoming clearer than ever that the only time he’s in control of himself is when Jack is making his decisions for him. Vaughn was right. It’s alarming that Rhys can’t remember the last time he disagreed with Jack and won. Really, he can’t remember the last time he disagreed with Jack at all. Rhys knows he should harp on this, that he should examine what he’s gotten himself into, but his brain feels wired and he can feel his thoughts slipping. His concern starts melting away as Jack’s heat seeps into him, and he leans into Jack’s neck, fear fading. A moment later, and Rhys can’t understand why he was concerned at all; he submits to Jack so he doesn’t have to feel the stress he just felt ten minutes ago. Of course Jack is in control. Isn’t that the whole point?

Rhys can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s a flaw in his logic somewhere, but his eyes are closing and he’s baring his neck to Jack, who’s nipping at the skin there. Jack pauses, draws back, and looks at Rhys.

“What do you want?”

The question is sincere, and Rhys feels something click into place. This routine is old, familiar, comfortable. He wants to be under Jack, wants to lie there and take what’s given to him, wants to know that he doesn’t have to worry about anything because Jack will tell him what to do.

It’s like falling right back into a well-known habit, but Rhys feels like he’s never wanted Jack to control him with this level of intensity before. It’s like he’s searching not just for pleasure but for security, some kind of reassurance that the past twenty minutes were a blip on the radar, just Rhys’s mistake that he could handle power over himself and over Jack.

“I - “

Rhys isn’t sure how to articulate exactly what he wants. He settles for saying, “Daddy, please.” It’s plaintive and Rhys looks up at Jack with wide eyes, hoping to convey everything. He figures it works when a second later Jack pulls his hands over his head in one swift movement and uses the ribbon from earlier to tie Rhys’s wrists together. He’s on top of Rhys now, his weight settling heavily against Rhys.

“I thought you wanted to be in control tonight, Rhysie. Did you change your mind?”

Jack sounds legitimately curious, but Rhys thinks the ties on his wrist are spelling out the answer pretty clearly. Still, he responds sincerely, wanting Jack to know how much he needs him.

“I want you to take care of me.”

Jack doesn’t try to hide the satisfied smile on his face at that, the curl of his lips just slightly cruel. Rhys doesn’t notice though, too busy swallowing whimpers because Jack starts grinding against him. Rhys’s cock is leaking, the heat between them getting slicker, and his hips are thrusting up towards Jack, instinctively searching for more friction. Jack’s trailing kisses along Rhys’s chest, the imprint of them hot but brief against his skin. Rhys feels flushed and overwhelmed, the heat spreading through his limbs and stomach, but all he can think is that he wants more.

The bed creaks slightly as Jack shifts his weight away from Rhys, the intensity of their shared heat dissipating. Rhys frowns slightly, but then Jack’s hand is nudging against Rhys’s legs, urging them open. Rhys obeys almost instinctively, and he sees Jack reach for lube before pausing, hand still outstretched.

“Pumpkin, let’s try something different tonight.”

And then Jack’s pushing his fingers into Rhys’s mouth, and ordering him to suck. Rhys does so, running his tongue over Jack’s fingers repeatedly before swallowing, the movement exaggerated. He meets Jack’s gaze for a moment, then drops his head to the pillow behind him, facing the ceiling. He arches a second later as Jack starts fingering him, the burn mixing with the pleasure. The spit really isn’t enough, but Jack puts another finger in anyway, scissoring to open Rhys more. There are lips on his neck, then the hollow of his throat, gentle kisses meant to soothe. One more finger and Rhys writhes in discomfort, unable to decide if it’s too much or not enough. Then, Jack hits the spot inside him that makes him cry out instantly, all debate settled. He’s shaking and pleading, vaguely aware that he’s saying “Daddy” repeatedly and with all the reverence he’d give to God.

Jack pulls his fingers out, his other hand rubbing comforting circles against Rhys’s ribs. He shushes Rhys as he starts pushing in, fingers tightening on Rhys’s chest as he tries to keep from moving. Rhys’s head is thrown back, hair plastered against his forehead.

“Daddy, more.” The words come out breathless, Rhys too lost to care anymore. Jack’s mouth is on his a moment later, swallowing Rhys’s cries once he starts moving, thrusting harshly into Rhys. The burn is completely gone by now, and Rhys struggles against his bonds, wishing his hands were free so he could touch himself. Jack notices and moves his hand up Rhys’s arm, fingers trailing lightly before clamping down hard on Rhys’s bound wrists. He increases his pace, angling until Rhys is crying out at every thrust.

The sensations are overwhelming, Jack’s cock sliding against his with each movement, pleasure flooding him each time Jack brushes against his prostate. Jack reaches a hand between them and strokes both of them, and it’s only once, twice before Rhys is coming, mind devoid of any thoughts, happy to trust Jack.

Rhys feels boneless afterwards, eyes slipping shut even as Jack continues to move, drawing short, quiet whimpers from Rhys. Jack comes with a low moan, heat filling Rhys and dripping down his thighs onto the white sheets as Jack pulls out.

Rhys faintly registers Jack untying his wrists and then running soothing fingers over the skin rubbed raw by the cloth. The sheets rustle slightly as Rhys slowly moves his arms down to his sides, wincing at the change in position.

He looks at Jack, still unwilling to move, before saying, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Rhys, it’s fine.” Jack’s gaze is serious when he asks, “What did you learn tonight?”

Rhys had felt owned tonight, and he realizes that he can embrace living all of his life like this. He practically already has. There’s no pressure, no worries when he knows Jack is in charge.

“That I can trust you to be in control.”

A curt nod from Jack.

“Good.”

Jack turns away to grab a cloth and clean himself up, wiping Rhys lightly a moment after. He seems satisfied, like Rhys has just pleased him immensely with his answer, and he drops a light kiss on Rhys’s lips before saying, “Wait here.” Jack gets up, the bed shifting with his weight, and moves toward the adjacent bathroom. Rhys watches him leave and exhales as he hears the tap turn on. He knows that something significant has just happened -- all those doubts and questions that kept cropping up about Jack have fully dissipated, and he’s ready to commit to the life he has with Jack. Rhys can’t help but wonder if Jack only agreed to his request because he knew this would be the outcome.

The room is plunged into sudden darkness as Jack turns the lights off on his way back to the bed. He settles against Rhys with a small sigh, pulling the covers around them both. If this was a fight for control, Rhys has definitely lost. With Jack’s arms around him and his breathing a steady rhythm in his ear though, he can’t say he cares. Besides, he never stood much of a chance in the first place.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ha ha ha a h ah part 4 of mud and sin 
> 
> side note: not meant to be a healthy relationship. it never is, with Jack/Rhys.


End file.
